Null & Void
by Raphaela Crowley
Summary: Before The Beginning, Aziraphale disobeys orders and rescues a red-haired angel. Gabriel is not pleased. No Slash. One-shot.


_Null & Void_

A _Good Omens_ fanfiction

Before The Beginning:

On the northernmost edge of Heaven there is a door. A door which opens to a void.

This is not the swirling windy void of science fiction novels that have not yet been written by human authors who have not yet been born. There is no wind – wind hasn't been invented yet, either.

It is, in fact, so much worse.

It's simply nothing at all.

Nothing at all, with just a_ hint _of blue.

The flash of colour is there just to remind you it's the last colour you'll see before you go mad from spending an eternity falling through nothing and, by default, don't care about colours enough to notice them any longer.

The door is not in use.

Think of what lies behind it as just extra space – space on a canvas God hasn't painted on yet.

It isn't meant to be a punishment. This isn't Hell, after all (which has also not been invented, which is not even, currently, so much as a twinkle in Lucifer's eye).

So what, pray tell, are those archangels _doing_?

It seems they are dragging a thrashing, pleading angel – a skinny one with red hair and gold eyes – of rank undisclosed towards this door.

"Come on..." The red-haired angel stops fighting them and tries to disarm them with a smile they won't acknowledge. "It was just one of my little jokes, you know that. Come on, guys! You have to admit it _was_–"

He's cut off by a punch to the gut from Sandalphon.

"Point taken," he rasps.

Uriel's hand is on the shiny, silver knob of the door, and he's beginning to turn it, slowly, making every second of dread count.

The red-haired angel is terrified now – he's back to thrashing. He's kicking like a mule and squirming like a snake (both of which also haven't been invented yet), but Gabriel's arms hold him in place and pull him closer and closer to the – now very open, very quiet – door.

"Please, _anything but this_!"

"Maybe next time," says Gabriel, his mouth in line with the victimized angel's ear, "you'll learn to keep your big mouth _shut_."

The angel is starting to hyperventilate. How can he explain to them his fear – beyond that of merely facing the horror of pure nothingness – of this door? It's not the void, it's not even the fall. It's the fact that the floor just before the drop-off, the place he'll be forced to stand trembling if they lock him behind it as they're threatening to do, is sloped. He fears the gradual pull, so like a causal saunter, until... _Bang! Whoosh!_ The free-fall into nothing, into hopelessness.

If he could put it into words, would they take pity on him? Would they care?

The hardness in Gabriel's violet eyes as he spins him around and starts shoving him backwards makes him think probably not.

He grips the side of the doorway so they can't close it. _Don't look down, don't look down..._

Gabriel undoes his fingers one by one, pulling each so far back it hurts.

He's down to one last finger now.

"Please...no..."

Sandalphon laughs.

Michael, though, seems discomfited – this is going too far. "All right, Gabriel, he's learned his lesson. Let him go."

"Bless you!" splutters the angel, red curls bobbing forward. "Thank you, most merciful archangel."

But Gabriel bends back the last finger and pushes.

"Come on, Gabriel, this is too much," but she doesn't say it with much heart this time, she'd rather give in if she's got to.

It's all the angel can do to keep his balance on the slope. He pulls his suddenly sandbag-like wings – so heavy, so very heavy – around himself protectively as the door is slammed shut.

Did I mention angels cannot fly in the void?

No?

Oops.

* * *

The Principality can hear somebody screaming. They're on the other side of the door which opens to that little spot God hasn't made anything out of yet. Aziraphale doesn't fear the void – it's a thing of mild interest – he only wonders what it one day might hold – but he knows there are plenty of other angels who do, who don't feel comfortable being near it.

It seems to be locked, the poor soul trapped on the other side.

That would be scary, even if the void itself didn't frighten them, after a while.

"Hang on, dear chap, I'll have you back inside Heaven's walls – safe as can be – in just a moment!" His smooth, broad fingers wrap around the handle.

The screaming stops. Confusion and surprise can often stop even the worst of panics. There comes a muffled, "Wait, _wot_? Who _is_ that? Hastur, old bean, is that you?"

"Ah. Hello. Definitely not Hastur. I'm–"

Gabriel appears in front of Aziraphale, swatting him away from the door. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Oh, letting the poor fellow–"

"I meant _stop_."

"But he's gotten stuck on the other side – with the void." Aziraphale's voice drips with compassion. "The _poor thing_!"

"I swear if you put _one hand_ on that door..."

The Principality sighs. He doesn't want to be in trouble, he's a_ good_ angel, but his conscience will never forgive him if he doesn't do this. He's _got_ to do the right thing.

He can hear the frightened angel on the other side beginning to _cry_. Poor fellow must think no one is going to save him after all. It's _heartbreaking_.

That's one of God's creatures out there! Can't Gabriel understand that?

As Gabriel refuses to break eye-contact, Aziraphale hardens his own stare in determination and lunges for the door, then turns the knob all the way before he can be stopped.

There's instantly a slender, coppery angel clinging to him, murmuring, "_Thankyouthankyouthankyou..._" as if it's one single word.

They're pried apart as Gabriel's hand clamps onto the back of Aziraphale's neck like he's killing a goose (again, not invented yet, luckily for the goose) and drags him away.

He can't look back with his neck being held like that and so the angel he rescued never sees his face.

Later, after taking his punishment in as much stride as can be mustered, Aziraphale will make inquires about the angel, whose face he also did not see, and nobody will know who he means.

"Oh, um, reddish hair, slight of build..."

"You think that narrows it down?" barks the quartermaster. "You want Heaven to put all the skinny gingers in a line-up until you find him?"

Chastised, he'll shake his head. "No, no. Quite right. How silly of me."

**A/N: Reviews always welcome. **


End file.
